One Sole Direction (eng)
by Aletommopayne
Summary: Cambridge, 1936,Louis William Tomlinson is the son of an English Lord. 'There is no corner around the world ,where what we are will be forgiven.' 'Then why did you ask me to believe in fairy tales' 'Because maybe Wonderland is not where but when.'
1. Chapter 1

_"Alice did you sometimes learn something from your past experiences, or what?"_

 _"What."_

from 'Alice in Wonderland'

Lewis Carroll

I felt his palm pushing on the back of my open hand against the wall.

Jesus Christ, he had already put his hands everywhere and I had not even asked yet

 _'What's your name?'_

Here it is.

 _'I'm not telling you._

 _Who the hell knows you._ '

 _'I am going to fuck you, at least tell me who you are.'_

Fair enough .

I had to stop going around and having fun with the worst scum of Cambridge. Sooner or later, with my arrogance I would offend the wrong person. But I was in the third year and then it was like a personal tradition. Inaugurated the academic year with this anonymous sex.

This one I had recovered in one of the remotest pub, the farther from campus, the less bullshit risked to do.

I had spent half an hour before I had the courage to meet his eyes.

But he stared at me with no control e no shame.

He looked at me as if he never had seen a man before me, and actually saw the environment that he frequented, I had not struggled to believe it.

Interesting boy, tall, dark hair and messy just enough to make me want to abuse of his companionship , before lock me in the corridors of the spotless ,most prestigious college of England – well you should agree, one of the two most prestigious colleges of England ( 1).

And in any case, when one would ever view a skin like mine?

When I entered the bathroom I called the usual seven minutes.

If he had not come in that time frame I would come out and say goodbye.

It had been four.

More than last time,

less than the first.

I was losing it?

I walked over to the door to look out and check it, when it suddenly opened.

Four and a half minutes.

We exchanged a few words that together did not make a sentence and then I had his hands everywhere.

That 's what I like of this poor trash,

They know what is worth to risking jail.

And although they are all queers , they exude masculinity from every flap of skin.

They have no grace.

They have no rules.

And for once, what I was, it counted for nothing.

I represented no more than a hand on the wall.

 **Cambridge, 10 March 1937**

In or out.

Life is made of moments of indecision and choices suspended on the edge of a logic that does not exist and perhaps unnecessary.

I stared at the window of the tea room next to the library and I kept wondering if the bug was in or out.

Yes, it wanted only a gesture, a careless hand, one blast, maybe wings, to figure out where it was.

But I, I stared at him.

In or out.

To be or not to be.

But then, really be what?

 _'A jerk._

 _That's what .'_

When I felt my shoulder moved to direct my arm to the window, the voice of Niall Horan, just set to its most arrogant tone, broke the smoky air of the room.

 _'Only a fool would give up to the throne of England for an american woman.'_

She was not enough a woman, he had to add the source to give a better idea.

As if giving up the throne of England for an English woman would not be too mad.

 _'I would let you know that you are calling the King of England a jerk, I don't even know if there is death penalty for this.'_

The ability of Liam Payne to not grasp the true meaning of a conversation never ceased to amaze me.

He had the ambitious certainty that tidy up a place after a tornado, was enough to revive the silver candlesticks.

It was not his fault.

All the high English society had the stubborn belief that the appearance of a well-lit, on the day of receipt, would be enough to hide generations of scandals wretches.

Or that the well-trained horses were enough to win wars.

Small saddles and tight bridles.

Everything under strict control.

Napoleon was not enough for them to realize that they did not control their own shit.

And even an Empire nearly dismantled after a won war .

 _'Former King._

 _Payne. '_

Niall objected.

And he continued.

 _'Just because he's a jerk._

 _He gave up the throne for a woman._

 _He gave up the throne for an american woman_.'

He ruled again.

I postponed the decision on the insect and intervened

 _'Maybe Wallis Simpson is not a woman like any other._

 _Maybe she knows arts that we do not even imagine .'_

I let that statement tinged the edges of the conversation, of the wickedness and vulgarity, enough to shut up all the audacity to pretend of Horan and the plaster respectability of Payne.

I would have ended there, triumphant in my steel capacity to provoke, if not in the room there was someone else.

 _'Do not be vulgar,_

 _Tomlinson._

 _it does not suit you .'_

There it is.

Leaning in the doorway arch only with the tip of the shoulder, his arms and legs crossed, and a look not too intrusive to fill the entire room.

Harry Styles had just discovered my bluff.

Again.

He stood there, proud,

never in awe,

with a beauty so shameless to intimidate the centuries of literature that were the setting.

Indeed.

He could inspire each of these works.

And for that it would have enough presence.

And while to others he lavish trivial acidity,

I was the victim who he reserved the charisma.

And then he turned to Niall.

 _'Horan you are so stupid that if I followed your reasoning I should say that your mother is american._

 _But, ironically, I happen to have an american mother and everything, in my being ,disproves your theory._

 _Among other things, you're not even english, what do you have to discuss so much to the origin of the Simpson? You will have to explain it to me._

 _At least the Yankee have conquered those independence, your people in Ireland are still suffering._

 _Instead, I will now tell you the biggest secret of England, and more_ .'

He walked past me, looking at me with that damn look of his.

Then he stopped behind Niall and, relying on the arms of his chair,

perching close to his ear, he whispered aloud

 _'Our beloved king, is not abdicating to an american woman,_

 _-even if she is an artist, how the ingenuity of Tomlinson suggested_.'

(He helped himself with an elegant movement of the hand, to humiliate me more gracefully)

' _His problem is not having sex with something that comes from across the Atlantic,_

 _but sympathizing politically for what is a bit 'too much across the Channel.'_ (3)

Liam got up from his chair as if he had just erupted beneath a mortar bomb, but before he could chant his objection, Harry was already responding:

 _'Rest soldier._

 _It is not worth being so loyal to a king who renounced at the crown for an american or a german._

 _Or worse._

 _For both._

 _Too much vulgarity._

 _Too much, all at once, to profane the dynasty of Windsor_ .'

The sounds of laughter of Niall accompanied the silent retreat of Liam.

No one wanted to start to discuss Hitler.

Nor even a policy that currently was none of our concern.

Or so we thought.

And in any case, no one wanted to start a discussion with Harry.

Although younger, he was more intelligent, cultured and brazen than all of us.

He had entered my -in our lives, only a few months earlier, who knows where, who knows why, but no one, not even for a second thought he could be just a regular guy.

Certainly I would not have redone the same mistake.

Yet.

 **Cambridge, September 1936**

I felt his palm pushing on the back of my hand against the wall.

Jesus Christ, he had already put his hands everywhere and I had not even asked yet

 _'What's your name?'_

 _'I'm not telling you._

 _Who the hell knows you. '_

 _'I am going to fuck you, at least tell me who I'm doing it.'_

Well yes, usually my name worked perfectly.

Nothing let them turn on as saying my fucking name.

 _'Louis._

 _My name is Louis.'_

At least that was what always happened.

I heard him come closer, his chest against my back.

And with an unsustainable gently, he leans on my neck.

 _'Oh._

 _Louì._

 _Êtes vous français? '_

Perfect pronunciation.

 _'No.'_

I stammered.

Even better.

It came out panting because I was the one who get more excited.

And he get in.

 _'Ce n'est pas important._

 _I'll call you Louì._

 _It drives me crazy. '_

His voice.

Holy Christ.

Low.

Deep.

His way of pronouncing my name in two languages together.

 _Liuì._

Only the beating of two syllables, and I was completely his.

I was not even able to speak.

I was just panting.

I pulled down a curse and he had pleaded

 _'Do not be vulgar_

 _Louì,_

 _It does not suit you_ .'

And I was thinking.

I thought the guys in the slums did not speak French, they did not know this pronunciation.

I thought, feeling them all over me, that those hands made of silk could not belong to a worker.

I thought the boors do not protesting for a blasphemy and do not smell like Bayles.

But then, what was he ?

Most of all, who the hell was he?

And why, instead of scare me, he let me feel it even harder?

In fact, I stopped even thinking.

Even when we finished, he gave up on my back and the feeling of fullness was absolute.

He did not move, not even I, we were on our pleasure still, as we agreed.

How to sublimate it in a silence that separated the surreal moment that we had just experienced and reality-or the almost- reality - of life that had led us there and that there would be swept away.

An island of pleasure, surrounded by a sea of silence.

Without knowing what the banks of our real lives were distant.

When he pulled away from me ,I could with difficulty put together my senses, and went back to the question that at that time was crucial.

Who the hell is he?

I try to stand straight and give me a tone of indifference.

Ask a question needed with the air of who doesn't care about anything.

 _'So you'd be?'_

I asked, staring at the buttons of his shirt.

He looked at me smugly but I saw a crease to the side of his lips stretching his smile.

 _'I'm not telling you._

 _Who the hell knows you_ .'

He looked at me again.

This time in a different way.

He looked at me like I was naked in front of him.

No, he looked at me as if I was naked just for him.

And then he went on.

I saw him with a sarcastic laugh.

I had just be screwed by a stranger.

In all senses.

With all senses.

And I was laughing.

And I was terrified.

The only sad victory that bastard left me, after a few weeks earlier he had taken advantage of me in the bathroom – well the agreement was absolutely consensual and even more but I do not know who he was, and then I was the one who had been used - was the fact that he has paid the bill for both.

It was not actually that the victory-and in fact, I would also regret it -, because to be honest I could pay the bill for the entire room with only the weekly allowance when I was 12, the victory was the fact that he paid before joining me in the bathroom.

So, from the four and a half minutes that I had to wait, I had to take off the time he has spent to pay the bill.

I am a picky.

I love the details.

And he practically run in the bathroom as soon as he saw me get away.

In substance, most likely, I beat my personal record of conquer.

(Actually that night I had beaten other records, for which I was not too proud)

And if the boor had not decided to do the gentleman I'd be even fully certain.

Too bad that some records could not be discuss in public and so them were to remain only my things, as the calendars of prisoners on the walls of the prison; incomprehensible, encouraging and necessary.

I thought about that, in the yard, during a break between two lessons, while Liam complained about the new schedule of courses and Niall of his new roommate, freshman and deaf-mute, always the same speeches, always the same complaints.

Boredom.

Nothingness.

Actually I thought on the unknown even during class, in the cafeteria, while playing tennis, while I was brushing my teeth, and as I stared at the book of international relations in the library.

More than the record I was obsessed with who the bastard that I was fucked in the bathroom of the pub was –well , he was the one who had fucked me, but in any case the question did not change.

He knew my name and was not a worker or one of those mindless who frequented those places.

Who the hell was he, it was impossible to understand.

He was a stranger and knew my secret.

Of course it was also his secret but it was my life that I was worried, not his.

It was not the first time that I slipped in one of those pubs to try an easy company.

I knew what would be the consequences of what I was doing but I also knew that a story away from my environment, where no one knew my name, it was a risk I could afford to run.

But that evening I had made a mistake.

It could cost me really much (3)

 _'There it is._

 _That guy._

 _The weirdo .'_

If he did not screaming, he was not happy.

Whenever I was lost on my own thoughts.

Niall and his inappropriate tone of voice.

And right in time the pedantic comment of Liam.

 _'Look, he is deaf and dumb, not delayed.'_

I turned around following their voices, still asleep on my doubts.

In fact, I thought of being on the brink of the worst possible madness.

I saw him from a distance.

There he is, really.

He crossed the grass of the entrance of the faculty, we were on the other side of the porch.

The view could not be the best, a sniper would have known how to make better choices.

The same step stylish, shorter hair, and the same air as an arrogant son of a bitch.

He was he, no doubt.

 _'There it is.'_

I concentrated and then I turned to Niall.

 _'Excuse me, is he your roommate?_

 _The deaf-mute? '_

 _'Yes Louis._

 _That's him._

 _The weirdo.'_

Even Liam interjected

 _'Oh, it is deaf and dumb not retar ..'_

 _'Liam we understand._

 _And now please be quiet._

 _How you said your roommate is called, Niall? '_

(It is also possible that I have a devilish grin appeared on one side of my lips)

 _'I told you twenty times Tomlinson.'_

 _'Add the twenty-first , maybe this time I remember.'_

I danced on my impatience.

 _'Harold._

 _Harold_

 _Styles.'_

Deaf and dumb.

That animal.

Although I wanted to laugh a little bit.

I imagined Niall in that room screaming and shouting and swearing cause he could not make himself understood, and the one to take him for a ride.

I ignored completely Horan and started following the boor gentleman by cutting off the porch.

He seemed in a hurry and it was almost impossible to keep up with those ibex legs.

I saw him entering the bathroom of the floor and waited for the classrooms to be filled in and the hall to be empty.

At the beginning he knew my name and I do not know who he was.

And that had taken away the sleep and filled me with troubled thoughts.

And the bastard had done it on purpose.

But now, I knew who he was.

Name and surname beating only name.

Even if French, even if exciting.

(okay, well, better to focus on else)

But now I was the one in the lead.

When he opened the door we clashed, again.

It looked like a deja vu.

I told him the same thing.

 _'Oops'_

The same that he had said to me entering the bathroom of the pub.

I said it with that vindictive arrogance of those who was in the lead.

Then I looked at him.

And I died a little.

All of my shy looks, the smoking pub, the low lights of the bathroom, the effects of alcohol, the craving of sex, the excitement of his breath and his French and the anxiety about what he knew of me and I did not know about him and all about that night was stuck in the folds of my carelessness, was now before me in all its arrogance.

It was like looking at Medusa.

My eyes were hypnotized.

I looked like a child at the Luna Park.

The rides, the lights, the cotton candy.

My eyes were crazed bullets.

Jesus Christ I had become the deaf-mute.

Mouth, eyes, hair, neck, skin.

He did not miss the chance and he stole the joke.

 _'Hi'_

Hi, tilting his head slightly.

Still with that smile just mentioned and tone soaked in sarcasm that dripped annoyingly now obviously on me.

He and his ability to make damn sensual words.

He looking at me in that cursed way.

Harry Styles who raped me with his eyes.

With one blink he was stroking my whole body.

As if his tongue was licking every centimeter of skin.

It was the delicacy of a breeze on a wet body.

 _'Oh_

 _Louì,_

 _you look like Alice who followed the white rabbit and do not know which door to choose.'_

(He grimaced and if he was someone else I could thought he wanted to take off my embarrassment)

Perhaps at this point it would be appropriate and gentle to introduce myself.

 _'_ _I am Har ... '_

 _'Harold Styles'_

I said almost pretending to ignore its importance.

Not even the satisfaction of joining the victory.

Of course I had not won a shit.

And of course I had to pay it immediately.

 _'Louì,_

 _I was a guest in your ass,_

 _You are now allowed to call me Harry._

 _And I would give you the joy of a replica,_

 _but right now I'm late for my class.'_

Then, meanwhile he said goodbye, he said that One thing.

 _'See you around my Lord.'_

I had a feeling worse than when I went away from the pub.

He knew so much more about me than what I knew of him still.

And I had underestimated him.

Again.

I should have been terrified and instead but my brain drummed on one sentence.

And I would give you the joy of a replica.

And one disastrous question.

When?

Notes

(1) Of course, the other one is Oxford.

Oxford was founded in 1096, Cambridge in 1231.

The sarcastic tone reflects the multi-old competition between the two prestigious universities.

(2) Edward VIII was King of England and the British Empire from January 1936 to December of that year.

The official reason for his abdication in favor of his brother Albert - up the throne as George VI- was his relationship with actress Wallis Simpson, bourgeois, but mostly american divorcee -the king of England, by the time of Henry VIII , also head of the Church (which is the same Henry VIII married six times is one of those follies which is full).

To marry Simpson, Edward was forced to renounce the throne.

A few months later, in March of '37, his brother gave him the title of Duke of Windsor, a title that it fell too Wallis when in June became his wife.

There are suspicions that the reason why Edward was removed from the throne was not only his passion for Wallis.

Everyone knew of his sympathies for totalitarian regimes, in particular for the respect that he had for Nazi Germany.

In fact, the former king was sent to the Bahamas as governor for the entire period of the war and returned home only after the conflict ended.

(3) Here the discussion is wide but I will try to summarize it as much as possible.

In England the laws against homosexuality have always been hard.

In reality it is only one law, the Buggery Act, dated 1533, to the time of Henry VIII, and included the death penalty for the crime of sodomy.

Only in 1861 the death penalty was replaced by imprisonment.

It is for this law that Oscar Wilde had to endure imprisonment.

The law was abolished only in 1967, thirty years after the events she's describing.


	2. 2) run alice, run!

"I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears''

from Alice in Wonderland

Lewis Carroll

 **Cambridge, September 29, 1936**

 _'Louis._

 _Louis._

 _Fuck,_

 _Louis.'_

I heard the sound of Liam's voice , I looked around but I could not see him.

All the sounds were as tight as in a bubble of water, but I could see only sky.

I was stuck.

My back into the sea.

My look into the sky.

And I listened to what the motion of the water gave me.

I did it all the times when I was a kid, afloat in the sea, with my belly up.

Was that, the feeling of semi-consciousness, that I loved.

That night, I couldn't escape from that feeling.

I could heard the sound of Liam's voice, but I could not see him and, at some point, I felt the water pull me down, and I screamed.

When I woke up almost catching my breath from the false apnea, I found him sitting on the bed, I felt his hands holding my shoulders.

 _'What the hell is going on?_

 _You scared me .'_

I was still short of breath.

 _'Because you're a chickenshit Payne.'_

 _'You talk! You that a moment ago screamed like a terrified little girl._

 _I'm going back to bed, do not have another panic attack .'_

I immediately knew I scared him when I saw him sitting on the bed.

But I did not want to give him too much importance to my unusual screams during sleep.

It was only 3:22 a.m.

I slept a little less than three hours and I had already seen hell in sleep.

Okay maybe not hell just yet but I'd seen it really bad.

The room was becoming too sweltering for me so I went out to smoke some weed .

All the fault was on that fucking insect in the bathroom sink.

And Harry Styles.

Of course.

I was washing my hands and that damn insect was there.

It was in the sink where I should brush my teeth.

I stared at him thinking how to get rid of it because, seriously, I would not brush my teeth with that thing in the sink.

The only solution was to kill the insect with water.

Turn on the tap was enough to let it die drowned.

I was a fucking genius.

I opened gently the tap so it will taste the water but not die immediately.

But it had already felt the danger and instinctively moved in the opposite direction to the water.

I opened more and it panicked, began to flee furiously.

In that exact moment, while I stare at it, I felt the terror.

It was in a hopeless situation, completely exposed without an alternative plan.

It was repeating the same useless movements .

It was.

Me.

If someone had discovered my secret.

I would not have been better than the insect.

I was stuck between the desire to save it and the 'it's already dying and it's just a bug' thought.

Then it all happened in a blink of an eye.

Just before closing the tap, I saw water inexplicably increase and the insect being sucked, and while I thought what was happening, cause maybe I could save it and wondered what will it be, I heard his voice.

Strong.

Enthusiastic.

Inappropriate.

 _'Hello Little Lord. '_

Harry Styles has opened the tap.

Harry Styles has screwed my insect.

Harry Styles has taken even this satisfaction.

Fucking sadistic murderer.

 _'Still in Wonderland?'_

I looked at him with hatred in my eyes.

I think it came out as a irritated grimace.

 _'What are you doing here?'_

 _' I'm brushing my teeth.'_

(Simple and concise)

 _'No, what are you doing in the bathroom on this floor?_

 _You freshmen should use yours.'_

Inevitable morning sassyness.

Tomlinson Trademark.

 _'But this is beautiful, clean and big'_

 _'But is not for freshmen'_

He fucked the insect.

And he could fuck me too.

 _'But I can meet you here.'_

Gosh.

My eyes load up with horror and terror together.

(And also something else, certainly something else did.)

He noticed my reaction and added, without fuss

 _'Don't bother._

 _I already checked._

 _There are just you and me here._

 _You are quite pale, Loui._

 _Maybe you should worry about yourself._

 _Have a good day my lord. '_

It always ended with me watching him leave.

It was also becoming quite frustrating.

I decided that the situation should change.

 **Cambridge, September 29, 1936**

 _'It was not my idea, I am pretty smart but it was too clever even for me.'_

It was not like Harry.

He understood I was playing with him by ten minutes in the other side of the tea room.

Since he had noticed my presence I would mime improbable gestures and moved my lips slowly.

He knew exactly what I meant, but he didn't laugh, never stood up and had no oversight of humor.

He simply rolled his eyes, looked at me and went back to the book on his crossed knees.

We had met only three times, always in the bathroom.

And in none of the three I was able to say a full sense sentence.

Except when I accused him of being in the wrong bathroom, very clever.

( Excluding panting and swearing, off course, I was in perfect for that .)

I began to worry that he may thought I was some sort of vegetable delayed.

Stay there while gasping and making gestures was not exactly the best way to change his mind but I had a single argument in my pocket and had to do so much with little.

And so I came closer.

Pretty face and a murderess look.

(Kind of )

 _'Harry.'  
_

I said greeting.

 _'It was not my idea, I am very gifted but it was too clever even for me.'_

The gaze was steady and the tone almost indifferent full of elusive inconsistency.

(I flew over the very gifted, not to give him the satisfaction of having seen details)

 _'Who is the genius tho?'_

 _'Niall.'_

 _'I don't understand.'_

 _'It's like your friend needs an answer before he even finished the question.  
Probably he is not used to full sentences, just monosyllables._

 _Because when he asked me which side of the room I had chosen and I hesitated, he asked me if I could hear it. He asked me screaming, because Niall think that a deaf person is not someone who lacks hearing but a person who can't simply heard well, and so he believed that if he shouted I would have responded with more diligence._

 _And so I thought that I would rather be deaf instead than listen to his nonsense for all year._

 _And I made it clear, in gestures, that I cannot hear what he was saying and wrote him I am deaf._

 _I heard him swearing for a while cause his roommate was retarded but then he stopped._

 _Since then I live in silence and without anxiety by conversation. '_

Ok.

He was leading the ''complete sentences'' game.

But in the race ''look like a jerk'' I was the one who definitely was winning.

And I was going to score the touchdown.

 _'I would say that the I am very gifted thing doesn't make you honor.'_

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

I couldn't believe I actually said such a thing.

I could not believe that I looked even more silly.

 _'Thanks little lord, I wasn't hoping for this, you know, friendly – direction.'_

Oh, his blood had splashed into his brain after that.

He wasn't pale anymore.

 _'As for Horan and his current certainties, I would ask you to keep the information on my gifts for you, I mean auditory and speech skills._

 _It will come out, I will betray myself sooner or later ,and after that my physical safety will be at risk, because I doubt he will take it well, that's why I'd rather postpone .'_

He was definitely leading the complete sentences game.

Anyway, since he had pulled it out, I took advantage.

I sat on the other chair and said in a low voice

 _'Speaking of secrets Harry-'_

He did not look at me but I kept going.

 _'Speaking of secrets, I ask you to keep the way we first met – I hesitated - for yourself. '_

Then he looked up.

It was almost annoyed.

 _'I do not see what's wrong with the way we met, or rather, crossed by chance._

 _It is not inappropriate, outside school, for two guys go to drink a whiskey down in the city._

 _But if you prefer, I'll keep it for me. '_

I was completely petrified.

We had spoken only three times.

And all the three times he has teased me.

And when I wanted to talk to him and I tried to speak, he became cold and formal.

His answer was perfect, if I could choose one, I would have that.

Yet he bothered me,

cause he disoriented me.

The idea that I had done on him, before this conversation, was absolutely wrong.

He did not seem comfortable and he was also to do it again, leave me there in the grip of my doubts.

But this time I was faster, get up before him and put my hand on his leg and held him.

 _'Stay._

 _I was leaving anyway._

 _And now it's up to me to buy some drinks .'_

 _'Good evening then.'_

He confirmed my doubts.

He went away because he was not feeling comfortable and wasn't joking at all.

I was inexplicably furious.

I should be the one to surprise him.

And he has to change his mind about me.

But I was the one who asks questions to myself.

That kid was driving me crazy.

 **Cambridge, October 2, 1936**

Two weeks after the beginning of school, finally Professor Spencer began with his lessons.

The problem of Erwin Spencer was not knowing or not knowing how to explain the topics.

To teach History and Historical Criticism in Cambridge, to the sons of the British aristocracy, future political class of this country, be the best teacher in the world was only the basic requirement on the curriculum.

The problem of Professor Spencer is that he did take a bit too enthusiastic about his job and he never missed an opportunity to clear his role in who was on the other side of the chair.

The fact that three-quarters of his class was composed by the future leaders of the empire, however, inhibited him and so he ended to assert his role with who – poor him- was not noble, or not exactly wealthy but often thanks to grants study and / or charitable and / or miracles.

That morning he referred to Stanley Lucas, whose only crime was to be the son of a father far more ambitious than him, wealthy of birth, thanks to the last three generations of men able to use at its best the cotton fields and hand work at no cost, guilty of being there because in the last six months he had passed the test of history by miracle or he had to attend again, or he has chosen to follow the advanced class.

Of course for Professor Spencer it was a reason enough to point it out to everyone as incompetent.

The fact that I was there for the same reason did not concern him, just see the future leaders theory.

I t would be one of the usual lessons on Friday, in which everyone thought how to occupy the weekend, while I thought of Harry Styles, on what damn psychic dysfunction he had and / or how to convince him on that replica that I thought he has promised me –I know this two things are not easy to approach and indeed, them show that personality more disturbed was mine, but unfortunately, these details on my physical and mental health problems are needed to understand what was my mood that day.

Sometimes, between Spencer speech on the American Revolution and Elizabeth I, I had flashes of lucidity where I thought, if, this morning in the bathroom, Harry had just teased me, even if the problem was that I remembered the other , bathroom, and if he liked it at least a tenth of what I liked ,and if he was not kidding.

Only after we had spoken, almost we confided, when he seemed a poor imitation of himself, we were not met again .

In fact every time, after school, I went to Niall's , but he was never there.

Horan never knew where he was, because he would have to write to ask, and it would be too weird.

And so I think about the real existential drama of my life, despite Spencer disturbing me constantly with his nonsense on that fucking Elizabeth I, among other things also a virgin, you'll understand , such a queen!

Until he stopped attracted by a raised hand.

 _'It you're in first year, do me the courtesy to wait until the end of the lesson for ask a questions.'_

 _'It' s because I want to do you a favor that I want to ask you my question now.'_

Yeah well, I was not exactly in my best physical and mental condition, but now he was exaggerating.

Because there were only two possibilities.

Or was I.

Or was him.

Or I was crazy to believe to hear the voice of Harry Styles during a boring Spencer's lesson ,

or committing suicide by interrupting him and then contradicting him front of everyone, was Harry Styles.

But from the penultimate row where this morning I was able to hide, I could not see it clearly.

 _'Can you please repeat me your name?'_

' _I never told you, actually._

 _But anyway, it's Harold Styles.'_

All right.

One good and one bad news.

I was not crazy.

He definitely was.

 _'Tell me Mr. Styles, what is your problem? '_

 _'You say that history is a set of events that come back cyclically.'_

 _'Yes exactly.'_

 _'I am hopeful that you were not going to support the thesis of Giambattista Vico (1) because a sermon on Divine Providence I don't think may suits you, but I was wondering, how do you interpret, as part of the events that are repeated cyclically, the interventions of natural factors that change the course of history? '_

 _'What does it mean exactly?'_

 _'Well, you claim that the failure of the Armada and the collapse of the Spanish Empire was inevitable, because it falls in the' fate 'of the great empires, and if that day of 1588 the wind cross the Channel had blown against the English incendiary ships rather than in favor, which would have been the cycle of historic renovation?_

 _Because I'm pretty sure that the Spaniards would come up the Thames and would only remain the wigs of Elizabeth Tudor .' (2)_

Even from where I was sat I saw the bloody look of Spencer .

I sat straight in the chair, I won't miss the answer.

He was still but controlled, an expression of blood but seems to have already chosen how to argue.

 _'Mr Styles, I understand you excess of ardor, you are young, enterprising, maybe you know even some laws relating to capital punishment but I must first point out that at the time -and in fact even today- the rulers are not executed them with each other. '(3)_

 _'Oh sure._

 _She thought it too, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, I mean._

 _And I'm sure she justified her cousin Elizabeth, by considering her an illegitimate queen, after all it was her throne to be usurped before her beheading. '(4)_

Spencer was not controlled, he was furious and just a step away from losing his temper.

The whole class was silent.

Instead I was getting exciting.

In the true sense of the term.

(I am a sensible person)

And yes, I really wish it was not, but I could hear the low voice of Harry never losing in shades of color, he was seraphic, monotonous but incredibly sarcastic.

And I was getting excited.

Because from where I was – damn me! - I was able to barely see his profile and his back and to recognize his crossed long legs.

The professor thundered again.

 _'Mr. Styles, I remind you that Mary Stuart was convicted after a fair trial.'_

 _'Professor Spencer excuse me, but a process in which a Catholic Queen is not judged by his peers but by a group of English lords and most of all protestants, more than a fair trial is a farce.' (5)_

 _'The story is however, not made with ifs and buts.'_

 _'Not even with prepackaged theories older than two hundred years._

 _I understand that you did teach this history for decades, instead._

 _I've already study that in high school, do you think you can tell me something I do not know yet,_

 _because if the idea is to bask throughout the semester in the memory of how great Britain is,_

 _I just take a trip to the statues in the streets of London and the effect, believe me, is just the same. '_

 _'Do you think you know more than me Mr. Styles? '_

 _'Absolutely no._

 _I just want to focus on details you tend to ignore._

 _I think you can teach me much more than that, I just do not understand why you refuse to do so. '_

 _'Are you going to be so critical for the entire semester?'_

 _'It depends._

 _Is your intend to impose on us the story according to the pillars of traditional certainties or want to teach us how to stand in quicksand torn between the doubt and the truth? '  
_

And here it happened.

Spencer laughed.

Very loudly.

 _'It will be an interesting semester._

 _I'll try to be able to not disappoint you ._

 _I should have imagined when I read your side note on the first test, which you would not be an easy customer. '_

I saw Harry's hand tapping his pencil on notebook and his profile relax.

He was,

perhaps,

laughing?

And at that moment I thought that I had never really seen him laugh.

When the lesson ended he slipped away with discreet elegance.

He definitely knew how to enter the scene and how to get out with class.

 **Cambridge, October 4, 1936**

 _'Did you hear about the guy who almost humiliated Spencer to class?'_

Liam did not seem to expect anything else since he came back in the room.

It was obvious that the news would spread like a tissue of the Times.

Professor Spenser was known, feared and loathed by all those who had had the (dis) pleasure of being his students.

And the fact that someone had stood up was made illogical and already legendary.

Now they all spoke about him every time, everywhere, always.

I did not know even what was true and what was not.

Everyone was talking about Harold Styles.

They thought about him.

They spoke about him.

They asked about him.

Welcome everyone in my life , plebeians .

It bothered me.

Only even the idea discomforted me, people talked about him.

He was just the new guy in town, a fun story and who knows what else.

It bothered me the idea that he was at the center of attention.

I was jealous.

I was jealous even of the idea that they looked at him.

Worse.

I was jealous of the idea that they discovered his existence.

I knew that not everyone would be crazy and would have been obsessed with Harry Styles with the same ease with which I had done, but the idea that even one unnecessary students in Cambridge, who I cannot either know or give a name, will began to look at him, or look for him, among the people, it drives me crazy.

He was mine.

He was my obsession.

He was to remain only mine. 

And this, more than anything, gave the idea of how absurd was my obsession.

 _'Wait._

 _You were there. '_

Liam and his unnecessary questions.

 _'What?'_

 _'You are in the same class, with Spencer._

 _You were present at the show .'_

 _'There was no show._

 _Spencer was explaining and he spoke making him a question and then contradicting him in the response and ..._

(Liam continued to look out the window, as if what I said did not concern him, and he start laughing.)

 _... if you do not care don't ask me questions'_

 _'No ,no, sorry , don't you remember? The guy in question is Niall's roommate.'_

 _'Oh yes._

 _True. '_

I continued to look messy, pretending to barely remember his name when in fact I probably should say with absolute certainty the exact number of hairs that Harry had on his head, even if I did not counted them one by one.

 _'Well, Don't you remember?'_

 _'What?'_

 _'C 'mon Louis, where the hell do you live?_

 _Niall told us that he is deaf and dumb. '_

 _'Oh yes.'_

 _'He only found out two hours ago._

 _He searched all across college._

 _Even in the library, but he is not here. '_

Then I remembered.

What Harry said days before in the tea room.

It will come out, sooner or later , I will betray myself

and after that my physical safety will be at risk.

 _'And now where is Niall?'_

I asked worriedly.

 _'When I left, he was coming back in his room._

 _Sure that sooner or later he will come back '_

 _'And what's so funny?'_

 _'The deaf-mute, a little while ago, I saw him get into the dormitory._

 _And now Horan will be already inflating him like a zeppelin. '(6)_

I hate running.

I have always hated running.

Those who run are in hurry, and I have not ever.

Those who run are exited, and I'm always bored.

Those who run don't want to lose time, I love idleness.

Those who run are insane, children, servants, thieves or cowards.

Those who run care about something, or someone..

I hated

run.

Tho.

(1) According to the Neapolitan philosopher Giambattista Vico, history is a set of courses and Appeals that do not involve repetition of individual events but the return of similar historical forms, in which more and architect is the Divine Providence.

As if it were a continuous process of events destined to repeat itself.

(2) In 1588 Philip II of Spain ruled over what is known in history as the empire over which the sun never set, because he was so extended, thanks to the American colonies, not to be any time of the day in which every possession was in the dark.

That's thanks to the naval fleet, called Invincible Armada.

On August 8, 1588, he faced the English ships of Elizabeth I in the English Channel.

The Spaniards were more numerous, both the number of ships that of men, but the British commanders had the idea to set fire to three of their ships and send them like giant torches against the armada, which was forced to retreat and withdraw.

This changed the course of history.

(3) The divine right of kings is a principle dating back to the Middle Ages, that a monarch should its power to the will of God, not that of the people, the parliament, the aristocracy, or any other authority, and that every attempt to restrict his powers was an act contrary to the divine will.

From here also it makes it impossible for a sovereign to kill an another, except in certain exceptions, such as high treason.

(4) Elizabeth I, Queen of England, was the daughter of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn.

In order to marry the Boleyn, Henry became Protestant and head of the Church of England.

When Elizabeth came to the throne, as a Protestant, he was accused by the Catholics to have usurped her cousin Mary Stuart, the Catholic queen of Scotland.

(5) Mary Stuart lived in captivity and had no dealings with the outside world to prevent him have another attempt at the throne of Elizabeth I.

He was still involved in the Babington plot, although they had only consented to his release and not the murder of her cousin.

The law at the time stipulated that an accused person be judged by his peers and of course none of the highest English lords was like the Scottish Queen Elizabeth and the same could not judge it.

The lawyers made appealing to the fact that the "crime" had taken place in England and, using this excuse, they could proceed and establish a tribunal formed by the most important nobles of England, and this is what Harry refers.

(Elizabeth I, terrified to send to die a Queen consecrated, postponed from month to month signing the execution order. He signed February 1, 1587 - February 1,. Some are just coincidences)

(6) The zeppelin is a type of rigid airship developed in Germany in the early twentieth century.

It named after its inventor, Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin.

For most of the notes I used as a source Wikipedia.

Have not fallen into the details, it is the battle between the Armada and the English fleet that of Elizabeth I and Mary Stuart.

I tried to be as concise as possible in order not to bore you while summing up the events and their meaning.

If in doubt just write me or you can directly read up on Wiki, which is even more detailed.


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